The Nameless
by Disgruntled Minion
Summary: We are the nameless; those who have no name and no face, yet we walk among everyone; wishing to be noticed. In a small sense, we are you, which makes you like us. There is no escape.


**Warnings**: Angst, some violence

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto nor do I make any money from this writing.

**A/N**: This started as just a small journal entry on another site and suddenly erupted into something else last night. No names are mentioned and it's up to you to decide who the characters are and you can interpret the ending anyway you would like. And for that sense, there are no romantic feelings in this story; only the love that comes with close friends, nothing more.

* * *

"It's three o' clock in the morning and I'm wide awake. Outside I can hear the doors slamming and people running up and down the hallways. But despite the noise outside, it's not the thing keeping me awake. The one thing that's keeping me up is an emotion that I rarely talk to. Sure, we've chatted occasionally but most of the time we're at each other's throats or at opposite ends of the room.

But tonight we were back to back while I pondered the strange thought that was keeping me up.

Growing up, I was always told that one times anything was always equal to that number. While I understood the rule, I found that it wasn't working in this case. Although I wasn't sure if mathematical rules work when dealing with emotions.

As a human, we have many forms of love and affection; love for family, friends, pets, etc. And in that sense, I have no problem in saying that I love my friend like a brother. Which would explain why I was lying awake in my bed at three in the morning in an empty room that just hours ago housed six people. You see, despite the late time, my current roommate was at a party to which I had no desire to go to. Not that it bothered me, I had other things to do such as homework and I knew that he had other friends with him.

And truthfully, this was the other main reason I was up in the room by myself and this is where my problem came into play.

Because of the brotherly love that I have for my friend, I want him to have a good time without myself dragging him down. In my mind, he had other friends that he hadn't seen in months and after the weekend was over, he wouldn't see them again for quite some time. So because of this, I wanted him to be able to spend time with them, seeing as I'd have the rest of the summer with him and I really shouldn't be greedy.

And in comes the confusing part along with the math that doesn't add up. Love is a weird emotion; the love I had for my friend made me want him to have a good time despite the awful time I was having. But at the same time, it brought up so many other emotions and feelings that made me question why I was so annoyed in the first place. If math rules hold accordingly for the world and everything else, then why was my one friend, times the affection I have for him make so many unsightly feelings arise within me?

In normal terms, I should be happy that he was having a good time despite my shitty time. My dad once told me that parents give and sacrifice a lot for their children; time, money, and other things, in order for them to be happy. So despite the fact that I was also looking forward to last weekend, I found myself wishing it were over by Friday night. And I'm not sure what kept me from saying anything.

Maybe the reason behind all this is that I'm masochistic and I enjoy the pain from pushing others away when I'd really just like them to stay. I'm not sure, but whatever the reason, it kept me up for most of the night, even after he came back from the dance.

Even I don't know to which the full extent my mind sits at. The thoughts like to sit inside my mind and wait for the opportune moment to strike at me and then for some strange reason... I let it."

I finished my small rant to the psychologist and he looked at me over his papers. I was still lying in the comfortable chair that had been given to me upon my arrival in the large room and I had no intent on moving.

"Is that it?"

I snorted, "Is that it? That's all you're going to ask me?" I snapped at him, "I just spilled my emotions out for you and you're going to ask me if that's it?"

He shrugs slightly and I stand up, "Do you know how hard it is for me to let my emotions out to begin with? Why else do you think I was sent here?"

Dark eyes looked into mine and I sat back down again, fuming internally. He shuffled through some papers on his desk and let out a sigh, "If you are indeed masochistic like you suggest you are; are you going to tell your friend?"

I hesitate and my shoulders slump at the question while my eyes cast down to the white carpet. I should tell him; I've known for over half a year but something in me keeps balking at the idea. It's like we're in this small fight for some reason that I can't understand. I'm not talking to him unless he makes the first incentive and it's almost like I want him to apologize for something. But I don't know what he should apologize for.

I should be the one to say sorry.

"I don't know." I finally answer and wait for the rebuke to come my way but it never does. I look up at him finally and my pent up anger finally snaps, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

He regards me closely, "What do you want me to say?"

"That I'm acting ridiculous, conceited, stubborn, something." My hands slam on his desk and I'm not sure when I had jumped to my feet, "Tell me what to do!"

"I can't do that."

A scream rips from my mouth while I yank at my hair in frustration. Even if I wanted to tell my friend, he's gone right now and won't be back for another two weeks. Sure we have this awesome new technology called a phone; it's great actually, I used to spend hours talking to him while my parents yelled at me for the phone bill; but now I can't even look at the thing without something clawing at me. Makes me want to throw up.

When did this happen to me and why did it? I don't have the answers for that and I wish that it were written out for me like my manual that sits in my backpack 24/7.

"This is our last session." He reminds me as I had towards the door, "Whatever you chose to do, you'll have to live with it for the rest of your life. You can't go back and fix it."

My hand hesitates on the doorknob as a sense of déjà vu runs through me; I've been having a lot of that lately. It's nothing to new to me; I get them and visions of the future every now and then, but the increase in them has me slightly scared.

"I know."

The door shuts behind me and I walk out of the bright building and into an even brighter outside. The sun is making heat waves rise from the pavement and I crank on the AC as soon as I climb into my car before I drive off to my apartment.

I have less than a week to decide what to do.

* * *

'_Blank walls, white, smooth walls everywhere. A large ornate rug in the doorway and deep, rich wooden desk across from it. No sound echoes around the building but that doesn't stop the knowledge of what is going on._

_Smoke streams from the front door, curling around the marble pillars and the smallest drop of red blood falls to the ground. Where several more will quickly follow it._

My eyes snap open and I hear the flight attendant asking if I'm alright. I reply in fluent Japanese that I'm fine and wave her away.

That dream again; that same dream that I've been having for the past two months since I knew where I was going. Two months that I knew I was leaving for Japan. Two months in which my parents knew, but my best friend; my brother, never knew.

My parents were proud of me when I told them. Worried of course, but to be selected for this team was an honor for me and it was something that I had always wanted to do. My parents were in it growing up and I guess the same desires flow through my own veins; even if I took a slightly different route.

A more dangerous route.

My fingers grip my phone through my pocket and I resist the urge to flip it open. It wouldn't do me any good; the phones off since we're flying and he wouldn't know anyway.

Our last phone conversation; of which was two days ago and lasted for a whopping total of 30 seconds, I told him to meet me at my apartment when he came back home. If I wasn't there, he had a key and could let himself in.

He was going to have to let himself in; I wasn't going to be there.

Actually, he would be greeted by an empty apartment with the exception of an empty, overturned box that has a small envelope sitting on the top. It's addressed to him and explains where I am and everything else that I couldn't say for the past two months.

Okay, maybe it's not that detailed.

It only says that I'm going overseas to be on a special task force team designed to eliminate a growing gang that has become dangerous. That's it; I didn't mention that I was picked because I was the best sniper from my squad and I was asked to help them.

I was also told up front that they had lost over half of their militia due to this gang. He wouldn't know that either.

My will is in that envelope, along with the shortest conversation I've ever had with the person I consider a brother.

'_I'm leaving; you won't find me.'_

I turn my head to look out the window where down below, the sea glitters from the sun. I could have said more but for once I found that I couldn't write anything. My mind was a blank slate and trying to explain everything that I felt and telling him how much he meant to me just didn't seem to come to me. Instead, I was left only with the memories that I had over the past eight years or so that we were close friends.

It was funny, because growing up, he wasn't my best friend; hell, I didn't even know him at the time. I had another best friend, one that I had known since I was three years old but we slowly drifted apart as we grew older. I don't know where he is now actually.

But this person I consider a brother is special to me; someone that I would do almost anything for. I don't want him to worry about me and telling him that there is a high possibility of injury or never coming back just didn't seem to be like the best thing to say. So I kept my mouth shut and never said anything; letting him think that everything was okay with us while I struggled with my inner demons.

Sure, he'd be mad when he reached my apartment, but it would fade eventually; I guess. Despite it all and everything that we've said on being close, you can't predict how people will act. So where I would like to think that he'd be mad and upset, he could actually do the opposite. Who knows, maybe I was really just a pain in the ass to him and he's happy that I'm out of his life.

People can put up marvelous acts in front of friends; I should know.

I guess I would find out in a week when he came back home.

* * *

A week later I was sitting in my small room, cleaning my gun and checking its parts when my phone started to dance across the table. It's rather early in the day, so I know it's not my parents; considering the time difference. I lean forward to pick it up and freeze when I read the name flashing in the ID slot.

The vibrations racing through my body make me shiver as it continues to ring, yet I can't bring myself to flip open the top and press talk. Finally, the voicemail clicks in and a new set of ringing runs through my hand. He rarely leaves voicemails and staring at the small icon of an envelope sends something unexplainable through my body.

I press the delete button.

With practiced ease, I put my weapon back together and stand up, leaving the phone on the table. I wouldn't have any use for it today.

I pause as I cross into the living room where my bags are located. On a small calendar are several tick marks in red ink and I don't even need to look at it to know how many are marked on the page.

15. Three groups of five. No doubt there would be more by the end of the night.

I wonder if he would still be friends with me if he knew the secret life I lived.

If he'd want to be friends with a killer.

* * *

When I come back home; and yes I call it home because home is where ever my family is and they sit on a small shelf over my bed; my phone is flashing. I've missed calls from the States and as I skim through them, I notice that only a few are from my parents; the rest are from my friend; my brother.

Scrolling text messages roll across my screen and I can't help but glance at them.

'_Pick up your damn phone and stop avoiding me.'_

'_Bastard, you think you can just run away? I'm going to track you down and drag your sorry ass back home.'_

'_Please, otouto; pick up the phone. I need to know you're alright.'_

The phone drops to the ground at the last one. We always used to call each other brother by the Japanese names; it confused the hell out of people but we were able to laugh at it and it was like an inside joke for us. I leaned against the wall, biting my lip to keep the emotions from crashing over me. To me, he was my ani, my older brother yet I was the one who protected him.

Over my bed were some pictures; they were actually the only thing that decorated my apartment. My parents were there, including the picture of the three of us where I'm in the middle with a smug, cocky look on my face while my parents smile happily at the camera. There are others from when I was younger with other family members and then there are the ones that I brought of my friend.

Despite it all, I still couldn't stop myself from bringing a picture of him. I looked over it with dead eyes and once again the thought of smashing it against the wall crossed my mind. But instead I picked it up and carefully wiped away the dust that had accumulated on the top.

Home is where my family is; my loved ones. Even if they aren't with me physically.

I push away from the wall and let the phone lay on the ground. A red sharpie hung from a string next to the calendar and I crossed the room to pick it up. Six more marks for my calendar.

Six more people to add to my conscious.

* * *

Two weeks later, I'm camped out in a run down building with my partner. In a few days it'll be my birthday but that's the furthest thing from my mind. Despite my unresponsiveness to the calls and texts my friend has sent me, he's still sends them to me daily. The last one said that he knew where I was and was coming to find me.

I laughed at that because I know there's no way his parents would let him. Especially if they knew what I did as a job. When you're a sniper, you tend not to tell people what your day job is. You kill people and that's it. Your closest friend becomes your partner and a bottle of alcohol when the nights weigh too heavily on your mind.

Why would I make my friend suffer with that knowledge?

"Girly-boy at nine o' clock. Wind speeds a little under five miles; dial it in. They want the apricot."

I looked through my scope, picking out the male through the empty building. He was one of the lackey's that the gang had been using to set explosives in our hideouts. He was responsible for the deaths of eight police officers and twenty innocent bystanders. I adjust the scope so he rested between the crosshairs while my finger moved to wrap around the trigger.

"Spotter ready."

I sucked in a deep breath and felt the sense of calm rush over me as I released it slowly. Almost mechanically, my finger squeezed and the bullet went flying.

"Direct hit."

Within moments of the body hitting the ground we were moving away from the area to avoid detection. Being a sniper has its dangerous aspects of course. Many feel that we kill people in cold blood and should therefore, die by the same way. There's nothing worse than getting caught; even death would be a welcoming experience instead of the torture that we could be put through.

We were down the steps and moving away from the building when our radio's crackled to life. My partner took the call while I loaded our bags in the plain car that was given to us. When I moved away from the trunk, he looked at me with a haunted look in his eyes.

"They've taken hostages. They know that we've been called in."

"An exchange?" I asked.

He shook his head as we climbed into the car, "Apparently, it's the leader holding them. All or nothing."

I nod and we move into traffic, my mind spinning. The lackey had been a decoy to deter us from the main objective. They wanted us dead, or at least exposed so the public could see our failure and send us home.

Our target was a large bank that didn't have many windows so it would be hard to get a shot; these guys weren't messing around this time. When we arrived at the back of our hiding location, we were informed that there were ten people being held inside; all of which were foreigners. No one had been able to get a clear shot and the gunmen were demanding those responsible for the deaths of their men.

Which would be me.

My weapon was set on the tripod from a small room in the west side of the building, giving me an ample shot if someone came into view. It was the best place for the gunmen to make demands and I knew I would be able to hit him. We just needed to wait until they made themselves known.

An hour into the tense situation, shouts were heard down below us as the gunmen moved into view; holding a hostage. There was no clear shot with the way he was using the body as a shield and even if there was a shot to be taken; I couldn't do it.

Not when it was my friend; my brother in his arms.

My heart jumped to my throat while every other nerve in my body tingled before slowly growing numb. I could hear my heart beat pounding in my ears, as well as the blood moving through my veins. The scene played out in front of me like a slow moving movie and time itself seemed to slow down. Or maybe it only seemed that way in my mind.

The gunman was shouting something that I couldn't hear due to the distance. I tried to read his lips, but they were covered by a high-collared trench coat. Piercings covered his face and I remembered him from our books; he was the leader.

"Studs is out in the open." My partner said into the radio, "What's he saying?"

The radio crackled before a voice rasped through it, "He wants those responsible for his partners' deaths. One life for another."

A shiver ran through my body and I felt the cold grip of metal leave my hands. I didn't remember standing up but when I heard my name being called and I had to look down at my partner, I realized I wasn't lying down anymore.

"Hey, you alright man?"

"We're moving positions." I said, "Take the entrance door and wait for the body to fall; you'll have a clean shot after that."

He looked at me, "Which body? The hostages? You're crazy for whatever you're thinking about trying."

I somehow shook my head, "You'll know when to take the shot, but you'll only have a small window of opportunity. Line it up on the head."

My partner nodded and I moved down the steps, slipping outside before he could follow me. I was dressed casual to begin with so I didn't draw any suspicion to myself, so it made it easier for me to move through the crowd of people that had gathered outside. Now that I was closer, I could hear what he was saying.

He was screaming that we were murderers and we had killed his men. I almost laughed at his logic, but for some reason I couldn't even stomach the smallest chuckle.

The steps ahead of me were lined in marble as I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the police officers yelling at me to get back. Sometime during my momentary lapse of wonder, my gunman had slipped back inside with my brother and I needed to get in there.

Two gunmen stopped me when I reached the top of the steps, threatening to shoot me if I came any closer. My dead eyes looked up at them as I calmly told them that I was the man their boss was looking for and he wouldn't like it if I kept him waiting.

They patted me down any weapons and after finding none, let me in.

Blank walls, white, smooth walls everywhere. A large ornate rug in the doorway and deep, rich wooden desk across from it. Smoke curled in through the front door and made its way around the marble pillars.

As I took that first step inside the bank, I was pulled back into my memories and unlike before; there was no silence in my ears, nor was everything around me dead to touch. I could feel my heart racing in my chest, I could smell the smoke in the air and I could hear the screams and cries of the hostages.

Despite it all, I laughed to myself; now I know what I had been seeing for all those months, and somehow, I was oddly calm with it.

The clicking of guns sounded as I stopped in the large foyer of the bank while my body trembled with something that I couldn't place. It raced through my body, delivering messages to the nerves to be on guard.

"Move another step and he'll die."

My eyes drifted up to my friend who was still being held captive and I could see his body tense when he saw me. There was pleading in his eyes and I tore my gaze away from him; even today I couldn't look at him without feeling something claw at me. I had hoped that putting distance between us since that weekend would help, but perhaps, subconsciously, I needed to be closer to him. To confide in him how I felt and hope he could say that everything was going to be okay.

And knowing that I did nothing to answer his calls or talk to him made everything well up in my body. It crashed over my body like a tidal wave and I desperately wanted to say that everything would be all right; but I couldn't tell him that.

Why lie when you know the opposite is going to happen.

"I'm the man you're looking for." I said, proud that my voice came out strongly. "You wanted me and here I am; let them go."

The gunman watched me for a moment and I could see his arm loosening around my friend. "How do I know you're not some scapegoat?"

"An hour and ten minutes ago, I shot one of your men in the back of the head at your hideout in back alleys. I've been responsible for almost all of the deaths in your gang. Gunshot to the head with a bullet from a M110 SASS."

The leader looked towards his partner, as if seeking some confirmation that we had just killed someone from their gang. At their nod, a gun was brought up to my eyesight and I could see straight down its barrel.

"I'm going to kill you now, little sniper."

I nodded, "I know, but first you need to let them go."

My friend was pushed to the side and my eyes watched as he stumbled a little before finding his balance again. His eyes were wide as they locked with mine and I saw him shake his head, begging me not to do it. Pleading that I had some other plan.

They say that when the body is under extreme pressure, it can slow down time. Something in the brain makes everything seem much slower than it actually is, allowing you to escape or protect yourself in said case. In that moment I wished that it was true, because there were hundreds of things that I wish I could have said, but once again; they wouldn't come out.

I wanted to say sorry, that I was glad we were friends and I enjoyed being his brother; even if not related by blood.

My eyes stayed with his, as I tried to find something to anchor myself with or maybe burn in the last image of friend into my retina. I couldn't hear the screaming of the other hostages, nor could I even tell that my brother was yelling at me to move.

Instead, I let my eyes close as a small smile slipped across my lips and in that instant, I heard my friend, the only person I considered a brother, screaming my name.

But even in the end, with a bullet racing towards me; I couldn't say those two little words that haunted me for the past three months.

'_I'm sorry.'_


End file.
